Clue Me In
by Hugo V
Summary: Oreki and Ibara's lust for each other reaches fruition. *pretty much PWP - every review is appreciated*


**Author's Note: Porn. That's what this is. Enjoy?**

**I do not own Hyouka nor any of the Anime/Light Novel's Affiliates**

* * *

The strongest passions burn the slowest.

The otherwise empty clubroom is alight with their churning embers, their licking flames. Houtorou Oreki suckles at the tender skin of Mayaka Ibara's neck as he holds her small frame in his long arms, cradling the girl against a table. Her legs fold around his waist - he continues his ministrations.

A squeak breaks the silence. It's feminine, just on the edge of shrill. Ibara shudders, unfamiliar with the pleasure Oreki gifts with each nip and tug of his teeth. Her nails dig like claws into the fabric on his back, and would rend skin if a layer of clothing wasn't protecting it. She wishes there wasn't.

Who initiated this? Ibara finds it difficult to recall, her mind a hazy fugue of firework glitter and fog. She shifts in place, and things suddenly become more intimate. Oreki pulls back, cheeks stained a faded wine red, breath leaving his mouth in measured intervals. His lazy green eyes no longer seem such, now possessed by lust.

Her hands trace his shoulder blades before traveling upwards to settle in a mop of ungroomed brown hair. Ibara takes the initiative, pulling her mouth to his. They duel for dominance, and in this clumsy dance their personalities begin to surface.

Ibara is hardly timid - she bites and bends against him, each action aggressive as it is unplanned. Amateur. Though Oreki is hardly an experienced kisser, there is purpose behind each movement. His tongue glides; it is an interested, cautious explorer. Ibara's rushes to meet his, more prodding than inquisitive.

They detach, a strand of saliva cooling between them.

Both are winded, though Ibara is more adept in hiding it. She casts a glance downwards, examining the floor with false curiosity. If anyone (Chitanda or Fukube) were to walk in at this moment, they would be greeted by the unlikely sight of Oreki pinning Ibara in a manner not wholly wholesome. She finds the idea disagreeable, but fails to disagree with just how encouragingly Oreki begins at her neck again.

It is clear they have reached a stalemate.

Ibara is uneasy with the idea of going further. The clubroom isn't the most romantic place, though it's not exactly lacking in the faculties necessary for this flavor of activity. Namely, the table. And the floor, if need be. She finds it hard to concentrate with an admittedly cute boy sucking her focus out through her collarbone. His hair carries a unique aroma. It is evocative of pinecones, wood, a host of earthy scents. Ibara briefly wonders as to his product, but these trifling thoughts soon vanish.

She gasps, sparks coursing up and down her inner thighs. It would appear that Oreki is growing more confident, the fingers of his right hand now parallel with her entrance. For the time being, it is guarded by a thin cordone of cotton. Undeterred by his partner's reaction, Oreki turns his wrist, eliciting another fine response.

"A~ah!" Ibara stammers, her heart quickening. It's tireless - beats and beats and beats. She chews her bottom lip, the muscles in her legs tensing. Oreki offers no mercy, testing his newfound power. He decides to press inwards - Ibara's lower body reacts in sharp, fragmented spasms. Her sensitivity, for whatever reason, has amplified considerably. Oreki flicks his fingers.

"Ore_ki, _plea~se..." She manages.

"Finish your sentence," he insists, drunk off dominance. Ibara turns her head, suddenly bashful. When she locks eyes with him again, however, any semblance of apprehension is gone. Oddly enough, Ibara seems in her element. It's equal parts troubling and alluring.

"_Fuck _me."

He partially expects the words, though they hold no less impact. Oreki is physically shaken by her request, though recuperates quickly.

"Are you a...?"

"Virgin?"

A fleeting smirk flickers across Ibara's face for a second before she answers.

"I'm not, no."

He notices her tiny, clenched fist.

Though he'd like to pursue that line of questioning, it would have to wait. Oreki fumbles with Ibara's panties impatiently; she lifts her slim waist from the table to assist in their removal. He expects her to be blushing furiously - she's not. Ibara undoes his belt. The zipper on his pants sinks like his stomach. This is really happening. She palms his cock and issues a whisper-quiet gasp as he flinches at the contact.

Ten or so seconds pass and Oreki is fully exposed, fully erect, his member resting in Ibara's gentle grip. She lowers him, guides him forward, urges him to act on his own. Oreki is receptive to her signals, taking a step towards bliss.

The head of his cock finds her sex and he wastes no time in sheathing himself. Ibara gasps, the overwhelmed look on her face mirroring Oreki's. He begins to pump his hips, relishing in the foreign sensation. Ibara is naturally tight due to her height, though in no way unaccommodating. She's slick and hot, accepting his length with ease.

A grating noise accompanies Ibara's moans as Oreki increases his tempo; it comes from the punished legs of the table beneath them. Her cries sound bizarre to him - a clarinet whine from a tuba is an apt metaphor, though not especially flattering. He has never imagined her voice as anything but strict and intimidating, but now...

"Ore_ki! _You need to fi~nish soon, someone might-" Ibara's breath hitches, her jaw loose and eyes squeezed tight. He feels her pulse around his cock - once, twice. Oreki soon surrenders himself, cumming inside of her. The release makes him shudder in ecstasy, red, green, blue fire coursing through his veins - circulating from his loins upwards. Spirals flood his vision and he catches himself on the table, leaning over Ibara.

A minute passes sheepishly by before she places a hand on his stomach and pushes him away, hiking up her underwear shortly afterwards. Ibara is more composed than Oreki, who struggles to regain his balance. Her body is subject to a lingering buzz, as though her blood has been replaced by starlight. Oreki feels faint, and swivels to allow Ibara passage. She makes her way to the clubroom door-

* * *

Mayaka Ibara stops reading, humiliation burning at her ears.

"Who wrote this?"

Her icy tone is sharp enough to wound - Oreki, Chitanda, and Fukube make themselves as small as possible.

"Who," Ibara pauses, clearly tense, "Who read this?"

Silence.

Satoshi gives a good-natured grin. "To be fair, it's not terrible for a-"

The last thing he sees before black is a tiny, clenched fist.


End file.
